


Three Christmases

by misura



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Napoleon Solo Ships Illya Kuryakin/Gaby Teller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-14 23:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16922301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Or: how to tell you're becoming a team via three holiday celebrations.





	Three Christmases

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CopperCrane2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperCrane2/gifts).



Their first Christmas together, Napoleon gives Illya six of the seven bugs he's found hidden in various of his personal items (he leaves the one in his shoe, because it's stuck in there pretty good and they're Napoleon's favorite pair of shoes, not to mention very expensive). He puts them in a nice box with a big, golden ribbon and a cheery little card.

Illya gifts Napoleon eight of the seven bugs Napoleon's hidden in _his_ personal items, which is (1) hurtful and (2) a mathematical oddity which Napoleon decides to think about a lot more later, after he's figured out how to turn 'half a week of field rations' into 'one delicious Christmas dinner'.

Gaby gifts them both socks.

They're very thick, very warm socks. Very practical, if you're headed somewhere cold and wet.

"You know something we don't?" Napoleon asks. It's not that he doesn't trust Gaby. It's more that he mostly trusts Gaby, and that he thinks Waverly might do the same and therefore tell her things.

Napoleon's own experiences notwithstanding, he's aware that to some people, their boss comes close to being their friend: someone who'll show up with the cavalry when the going gets tough, instead of someone who probably won't even bother showing up for your funeral.

"Many things," Gaby says. "Does that bother you?"

Illya snorts, by way of telling Napoleon that he's being an idiot about this.

Napoleon comforts himself with the knowledge that there are also a number of things he knows that Illya doesn't, and some of them are even things Illya might want to know.

 

Their second Christmas together, they're at a party.

"Have you tried these canapes? They're very good," Napoleon tells Gaby, who looks stunning in a dress, even if the belt doesn't match. (Illya has picked it out for her, and paid for it with money Napoleon would very much like to know more about, even if he suspects that trying to worm the information out of Illya is going to be like pulling teeth - or having his teeth pulled, rather, given that Illya's not the one who's in for a lot of suffering.)

Gaby smiles at him. Gaby has a delightful smile, which even Illya seems to have noticed. Napoleon's not sure what, if anything, he ought to do about that. Somehow, mercilessly teasing Illya about it just doesn't seem like the right thing to do. Some things, you simply can't get away with while preserving the sense that you're a decent human being.

"Don't mind if I do." Gaby tries the canapes.

Napoleon suddenly and irrationally thinks that it should be Illya at the party, pointing out little things that make Gaby smile. It wouldn't really work, because Napoleon's much better at being polite at people while planning to steal from them.

"How long do you think it'll take our Russian friend to do his thing?" Napoleon figures fifteen minutes for the locks, ten to search the office, five to make a clean exit.

Gaby shrugs. "A half hour?"

"That's what I thought too." Napoleon smiles at a woman wearing entirely too much jewelry for all of it to be real, which is a pity but on the other hand, figuring out which of the stuff is real might give him something to do for a couple of minutes, so why not?

 

Their third Christmas together, something happens that might very well qualify as a Christmas miracle.

Napoleon saves Illya's life. It's touch and go for a moment, and Napoleon's not too proud to admit that he got worried for a while there, but in the end, everyone's still alive.

Well, all the good guys are, anyway. The ones Napoleon knows by name, that is.

"Illya," Gaby says. She's holding Illya's hand, which Napoleon decides to pretend he doesn't see.

"Cowboy." Illya's eyes are clear and focused. The man really isn't human, but this once, Napoleon decides to take his blessings where he may find them. "We got them?"

"We got them." Napoleon would have held up the folder containing the pictures, but Waverly's already claimed his prize, clucking like a mother hen with only one chick. (Credit where credit's due: he did spare a couple of minutes to be informed about Illya's condition, and then another few to squeeze Gaby's shoulder and offer a few comforting platitudes and wring a watery smile out of her.) "And you're welcome."

Illya frowns. "Beg pardon?"

"I saved your life," Napoleon says. "You're welcome."

"Bah." Illya scoffs. "I saved yours. Would have been fine, if you had only stuck to plan."

"So I got you guys presents," Gaby says, a little too loud. She wipes away a few tears, which Napoleon also decides to pretend not to see. (Needless to say, this doesn't mean he cannot judge Illya for doing the same.) "Matching beach towels."

"You do know something the rest of us don't."

Gaby smiles at him. "Of course."

Illya chuckles. Napoleon doesn't see what's so funny, but he decides to keep his mouth shut and simply bask in the satisfaction of a job well-done, regardless of other people's opinions. 'tis the season, after all.


End file.
